By now, Oliver had gotten used to the quiet. His days revolved around slow, careful routines: answering virtual assistant clients from his laptop, folding tiny clothes for the twins, and learning how much heavier everything felt. His belly was showing fully now at three months — there was no mistaking it. Simple things like bending down or tying his shoes felt like tasks that needed planning.

That afternoon, he’d gone out for groceries. He wasn’t expecting to see anyone familiar. Not in this town. That was the whole point of moving.

But as he stepped out of the store and adjusted the paper bag in his arms, a voice cut through the warm air.

“Oliver?”

His breath caught. It had been months, but there was no mistaking it. He turned slowly.

Lucas.

The same sharp jawline, the same confident slouch. Like nothing had changed.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Lucas said, eyes flicking down to Oliver’s stomach, then back up. “That yours?”

Oliver didn’t answer. His fingers tightened on the grocery bag.

Lucas gave a small, knowing smile. “You don’t have to hide it. I figured sooner or later, you’d want to talk. Especially now.”

That familiar, quiet pressure. The way Lucas always spoke like things were inevitable — like Oliver’s decisions weren’t really his.

And then, just like that, memory pulled him back.

Flashback

It was late. He’d been sitting on the edge of their old apartment bed, phone in hand, scrolling through job listings. He’d found one — fully remote, flexible hours. Something he could handle on his own terms.

But when Lucas walked in and saw the listing on his screen, the mood shifted.

“You don’t need that,” Lucas said, voice calm but firm. “I told you. Focus on us. I’ve got everything handled.”

Oliver had tried explaining. Tried saying he just wanted his own income, something steady. But Lucas didn’t like that.

It always ended the same: Lucas insisting it wasn’t necessary, making it feel like Oliver’s choices were childish, selfish even.

And later, when Oliver started changing his style — different clothes, simpler colors — Lucas would tease him. Pick at it until Oliver gave in and wore what Lucas liked instead.

That pattern. Small things, always controlled.

Back in the present

Oliver swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand straighter. “This isn’t about you,” he said quietly.

Lucas’s smile flickered, just a little. “Oliver. Come on. I mean—” His voice dropped low. “You really think I’d just walk away from something that might be mine?”

And there it was. The real reason he’d shown up. How did he find me?

Oliver stepped back, holding his ground now. “You should leave.” His voice was firmer this time.

Lucas didn’t answer right away. For a second, it felt like old times again — that simmering tension where Oliver wasn’t sure what would happen next.

But then Lucas just shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. “If that’s how you want it. We’ll talk again soon.”

Oliver didn’t move until Lucas was gone.

Only then did he let out a slow breath. One hand drifted to his belly, steadying himself with quiet certainty.

This life was his. His choice. His future. No one can take it away. 

Oliver moved stiffly to his car, quickly loading his groceries before Lucas had a change of mind to come back. Getting home was his priority.

The next day

The stillness of the morning had become one of Oliver’s favorite things yet he found he couldn't enjoy it. He woke before the sun rose completely, the sky painted in soft grays and fading blues. His body woke him before any alarm could—between the twins shifting in his belly and the tight ache in his lower back, sleep never lasted long these days. Much less after meeting Lucas, why did he appear now?

He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing slow circles over his bump. There was a dull pull in his hips today, heavier than yesterday, and he knew he’d have to walk slower when he ran errands later. 

The quiet, though—that part still felt like safety. 

He padded down the hallway to the kitchen, slippers whispering across the worn wood floor. His kettle hissed softly on the stove, and he made his usual mint tea, then sat on the couch with his laptop.

Emails first. One client wanted a meeting rescheduled. Another sent over new documents. Oliver worked steadily, sipping tea, pressing his free hand to his belly whenever the babies rolled or kicked.

There was peace in the rhythm of it. Work, tea, reply, breathe. Being busy helped to forget about the stress Lucas caused yesterday.

A part of him wondered how much longer he could do this. Not the job—he liked the work. He liked being good at it. But the strain in his body was becoming more obvious every day. His wrists ached more from typing. His feet swelled by mid-afternoon. And sometimes, when he bent too far forward without thinking, he felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Maybe it was time to move, leave this apartment for a house. Maybe one that was one level. I can barely tolerate the stairs here now In my current state much less when the twins arrive.

But still. It was better than where he’d been.

A week had passed, before he knew it.

His phone buzzed with a calendar alert. Baby furniture. He hadn’t gone yet except for the clothes, and the second bedroom was embarrassingly empty. He shifted forward to stand, exhaling as his muscles strained to support the weight of his stomach. His shirt rode up slightly, and he paused to adjust it—smoothing the fabric down, then running a hand over the firm curve underneath.

“They’re growing fast,” he murmured. Need to buy a crib and changing station. Maybe a closet or clothes chest.

He smiled, but there was a note of worry in it. Not fear—he wasn’t afraid of being a parent. He’d made this choice. He wanted them. But sometimes, it still hit him that he was doing it all alone. That the space beside him was quiet not because he liked it that way… but because it was safer.

He threw on a sweatshirt and walked slowly to his car, breathing through the stiffness in his legs. The furniture store wasn’t far—just fifteen minutes away—but every step seemed to echo how much slower his body had become.

Inside the store, things were organized. Predictable. He liked it that way. He knew what he wanted to buy. He decide to go with a brown wooden crib and brown wooden changing station to match as a set. The closet was a bit tricky, they sold out of the brown closets. The only ones left were light grey, light yellow and a darkish red. He chose the darkish red, hoping it would match somehow. He could feel in his stomach the moment his nausea kicked in, near the restrooms he quickly went to the register to checkout fast.

He didn’t expect anything to change. But change never asked permission.

It was only when he stepped out of the automatic doors, glad that the store would ship everything. He went still, at who he saw before him.

“Oliver?”

His heart seized. The voice was unmistakable—low, familiar, too close. He turned slowly, his breath catching before he even saw the face. Why does he kept showing up? Him Again.

Lucas.

Standing by the curb like he belonged there. Like no time had passed at all.

Oliver froze.